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- Herausgeber: LSODea
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Serie: Chimera Chronicles
- Sprache: Englisch
McBrid despises his job and Professor Conguise..
He hates himself for what he did to Fersia but he must continue to mutilate and transform people because he can't quit.
The only way to leave Level Five is through the belly of a beast.
And with Charlie and Glick's interference that might just be McBrid's fate.
Read the exciting culmination of Feeding Fersia, Breaking the Brush Men and Rage of Rattus Norvegicus.
Who lives? Who dies?
Who leaves Level Five and do they make it out alive?
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 293
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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Leaving Level Five
Chimera Chronicles, Volume 5
L. S. O'Dea
Published by L. S. O'Dea, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
LEAVING LEVEL FIVE
First edition. May 19, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 L. S. O'Dea.
ISBN: 978-1942706380
Written by L. S. O'Dea.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Also by L. S. O'Dea
Chimera Chronicles
Rise of the River Man
Feeding Fersia
Breaking the Brush Men
Rage Of Rattus Norvegicus
Leaving Level Five
Immortal Defiance
A Demon's Gift
Saving Christmas Breakfast
Lake Of Sins
Lake of Sins: Escape
Lake of Sins: Secrets in Blood
Lake of Sins: Hangman's Army
Lake Of Sins: Betrayed
Whispers From the Past
Machinations and Sacrifices
Standalone
Lake of Sins Series Box Set Books 1-3
Chimera Chronicles
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By L. S. O'Dea
Leaving Level Five (Chimera Chronicles, #5)
CHAPTER 1: McBrid
CHAPTER 2: McBrid
CHAPTER 3: McBrid
CHAPTER 4: Glick
CHAPTER 5: Glick
CHAPTER 6: Glick
CHAPTER 7: McBrid
CHAPTER 8: McBrid
CHAPTER 9: McBrid
CHAPTER 10: Glick
CHAPTER 11: McBrid
CHAPTER 12: McBrid
CHAPTER 13: McBrid
CHAPTER 14: Glick
CHAPTER 15: McBrid
CHAPTER 16: Glick
CHAPTER 17: McBrid
CHAPTER 18: McBrid
CHAPTER 19: Glick
CHAPTER 20: Glick
CHAPTER 21: Glick
CHAPTER 22: McBrid
CHAPTER 23: McBrid
CHAPTER 24: McBrid
CHAPTER 25: McBrid
CHAPTER 26: McBrid
CHAPTER 27: Glick
CHAPTER 28: Glick
CHAPTER 29: McBrid
CHAPTER 30: McBrid
CHAPTER 31: McBrid
CHAPTER 32: McBrid
CHAPTER 33: McBrid
CHAPTER 34: McBrid
CHAPTER 35: McBrid
CHAPTER 36: McBrid
CHAPTER 37: McBrid
CHAPTER 38: McBrid
CHAPTER 39: Glick
CHAPTER 40: McBrid
CHAPTER 41: Glick
CHAPTER 42: McBrid
CHAPTER 43: McBrid
CHAPTER 44: Glick
CHAPTER 45: Glick
CHAPTER 46: Glick
CHAPTER 47: Gruder
FREE Book Lake of Sin: Escape (excerpt)
A Demon’s Gift
ALL Characters From the Series
Author Bio
Sign up for L. S. O'Dea's Mailing List
Also By L. S. O'Dea
McBrid despises his job and Professor Conguise.
He hates himself for what he did to Fersia, but he must continue to mutilate and transform people because he can't quit.
The only way to leave Level Five is through the belly of a beast, and with Charlie and Glick’s interference that might just be McBrid’s fate.
Read the exciting culmination of Feeding Fersia, Breaking the Brush Men and Rage of Rattus Norvegicus.
Who lives? Who dies? Who leaves Level Five, and do they make it out alive?
Book five in the Chimera Chronicles is a stand-alone dystopian, genetic engineering story about human-animal hybrids. It’s urban fantasy/science fiction that’ll make you question who the real monsters are. Whether you’re an animal rights activist or just love your pets, this book will make you root for those in the laboratory.
Get a free book when you join my author group
http://lsodea.com/join-the-lake-of-sins-readers-group//
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Here are some of the perks of being a member of the Lake of Sins Readers’ Group
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Sneak Peeks of illustrations, book covers and stories
You can also join the closed FB group for all things Lake of Sins.
Go here to join
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CHAPTER 1: McBrid
––––––––
McBrid refilled his glass of whiskey. Since death was the only escape from his nightmare of a life, he may as well choose his exit.
“How about some more roast?” asked his father.
“I’m fine.” He took a sip of his drink and pushed his almost full plate away.
“Your mother wouldn’t like seeing you this way.” Dad moved the plate back toward him.
“She would’ve hated what I’ve become.”
“Don’t say that,” said Uncle Rob. “My sister loved you and your father more than anything. Your job wouldn’t change that, no matter how vile it is.” His uncle took his hand. “We’ll find a way out of this.”
“I already have.” He raised his glass. “To death by liver disease.” It was better than being torn apart by teeth and claws.
“Stop it, Matt.” His father stood, taking the bottle from the table. “There’s always a way.” He glanced fondly at Uncle Rob. “We’re proof of that.”
His uncle and the man he called father were lovers, had been since before he was born. His biological father had been a Guard. When Grandfather had realized exactly who had been slipping into his daughter’s bed, McBrid’s father had vanished.
The disappearance had never been discussed. It was a deadly topic. Even now, if anyone suspected he was part Guard he’d be executed. The authorities couldn’t let it became common knowledge that the classes were similar enough to produce offspring.
However, they all knew Grandfather had killed his father. If it weren’t for his mother and Uncle Rob he probably would’ve disappeared too.
Grandfather had known of his son’s sexual orientation and realized that the only chance he had for someone with his blood to inherit his fortune came from his daughter.
“You both got lucky Mom was as stubborn as she was devious.” He smiled into his drink.
His mother had been a sweet, kind, gentle woman unless crossed. She’d married her brother’s lover and had never given her father another grandchild, making McBrid the sole heir to his grandfather’s fortune, once his uncle passed.
“Beth was an exceptional woman,” said his uncle. “I miss her every day.”
“Me too.” He stared at his glass. She’d be so disappointed in him. He hurt and mutated others for no good reason.
“You’re sure you can’t quit?” asked Dad.
“I can but then I’ll disappear.”
“You could hide,” suggested Uncle Rob
“Where? We live on an island. Not too many places to go where you won’t eventually be found.”
“What if you became a Guard?” Uncle Rob glanced at McBrid’s father.
His arm stilled, glass half-way to his lips. “That’d mean I’d never be able to see either of you.”
“We could hire a new Guard.” Dad took Uncle Rob’s hand.
“I’d be recognized”—he took a large gulp of his drink—“and it wouldn’t work anyway.” These two were all he had left in the world and he wasn’t putting them at risk. “If Conguise can’t find me, he’ll go after you.” Professor Conguise had already threatened as much.
“We can take care of ourselves,” said Dad.
“I know, but this is my problem. My mistake.”
“What mistake? You took a great job. You had no idea what they were doing.” Dad’s face was flushed with temper. “I still say we report it.”
“Do you really believe the Supreme Almighty and the Council don’t know what’s going on?” For smart guys these two weren’t thinking clearly.
“I can’t believe they all do,” said Dad.
“Maybe not, but as soon as we report it, Conguise will find out and trust me, the man has contingency plans in place.” He tossed back the rest of his drink.
When he’d discovered what they were doing on Level Five, he’d spent his evenings, after everyone had gone home, poring over the documents in the professor’s office. After spending his life hiding his true parentage, he’d learned that knowledge was the only safety net he had.
“Thank you for dinner.” He stood. He wasn’t getting anything else to drink, so he may as well go home.
“Like you ate anything,” muttered Uncle Rob.
“I’ll wrap it up for you.” His father took his plate and went into the kitchen. “You can have it for breakfast or lunch tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t care about food. All he wanted was to be able to leave Level Five alive. If he couldn’t have that, he’d take his bed.
“Why don’t you stay for some coffee?” asked Uncle Rob. “It’s a long walk home.”
The refusal hovered on his tongue but the lines around his uncle’s eyes and the thinning hair made him reconsider. He understood better than most the fragility of life. “I’d rather another whiskey.”
“You don’t need another whiskey.”
He hadn’t needed the earlier ones either. “Why don’t we meet halfway. How about a beer?” His uncle loved beer.
“I suppose.” Uncle Rob rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen.
“Your food’s in the refrigerator,” his dad hollered from the other room. “And don’t let him give you any grief. Rob picked up a new ale earlier this week and has been dying to try it.”
“Stop telling all my secrets.” Uncle Rob walked back into the living room with two beers.
“You didn’t have to wait for me.” He didn’t need the guilt right now. He had more than his share with Fersia and all the other lives he’d destroyed.
“Terrence doesn’t like beer,” said Uncle Rob.
“You could drink your beer and Dad could drink his bourbon.” He tried hard not to sound snotty but failed.
“I miss you. We both do.” Uncle Rob offered him a bottle.
“I know.” He accepted the beer and moved to the couch. “I’ve been busy.” Trying to figure out ways to not kill the innocent.
His father walked into the living room and poured a bourbon before sitting next to him on the couch. “You should look for another job.” Dad held up his hand, stopping him from explaining, again, that leaving Level Five wasn’t possible. “I know. I know. You can’t quit, but what if we all took a little break from around here?”
Uncle Rob sat across from them on a love seat.
“What are you talking about?” The glint in his father’s eyes made him wary. Dad had been kind of wild in his younger days.
“We could leave the island.” Dad took Uncle Rob’s hand.
“That’s suicide. Nothing exists out there.”
“That’s what we’re supposed to believe,” said Dad.
Uncle Rob leaned forward. “I know someone who takes mini-excursions. He says the nearby islands are safe. Uninhabited, but safe. We could go to one of them.”
“And do what? Eat what?” They couldn’t actually be considering this.
“We could fish and live off the land,” said Uncle Rob.
“A permanent camping trip.” He laughed and took a sip of his beer. “This is good.”
“I know.” His uncle took a drink from his own bottle.
“It’d get you away from Conguise and his lab,” said Dad.
“That’s true but we’d be on the run for life.”
“Nah.” Dad laughed. “Conguise will forget about you. We can come back in a year or so.”
“He won’t forget.” No matter how much he explained, they couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening in that laboratory.
“Promise you’ll consider it.” Dad smiled at his partner. “We may do it anyway.”
“You’d leave for a year or longer?” He shouldn’t have said it. He didn’t want to hold them back, but if they left, he’d have no one.
“No.” Uncle Rob squeezed his father’s hand. “We’d take short trips.”
“Just to the closest islands.” Dad tried to hide his disappointment.
“I’m sorry. You should both go. Be careful but go and have fun. Enjoy your adventure. I’ll be fine.” He stood. “And I should go home. It’s late.” He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He’d have to continue to mutilate Servants and Guards, but he’d keep finding the sick and old, anyone who had no chance for life any other way.
“We’ll figure out something.” Uncle Rob stood and hugged him. “Be careful until we do.”
“You too.” He squeezed his uncle tight and then gave his father a hug.
“Take care, Matt and don’t worry about us,” said his father. “We’ve been hiding even longer than you have.”
CHAPTER 2: McBrid
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McBrid was still tipsy when he tapped on the back door of the shelter. He’d gone home after visiting with his father and uncle, but just when he’d been about to flop into bed, he’d remembered his appointment. If he didn’t get a new host soon, Conguise would choose one for him and McBrid couldn’t let that happen.
“You parked in the usual spot?” Satcha, the House Servant who ran the place, opened the door a crack, waving him inside.
The Shelter was closed so any carriage outside the building would look suspicious. Which meant he’d had to park in the alleyway several streets over.
“Of course.” He didn’t even try to hide his disgust. They’d been doing this for years.
“Gotta ask. You wouldn’t believe how many of you Almightys get lazy. You forget that you can die almost as easily as us.”
“I never forget that.” He followed the Servant down the back hallway. “He’s in isolation, right?” The conversation he needed to have required privacy.
“Yeah. He isn’t really contagious, is he?” Satcha looked at him as if expecting an answer.
He stared at the Servant, not saying a word. He was an Almighty. At least Satcha believed him to be and that meant he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone from the lower classes.
“It’s going to cost extra.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Come on. Putting Servants or Guards in the sick-wing causes questions.”
“You should’ve mentioned it earlier.” This wasn’t the first host he’d had Satcha place in isolation.
“I’m mentioning it now.” Satcha stopped. “I want double.”
“No.” Araldo, he should’ve stayed home and gone to bed. He was in no mood to deal with this tonight.
“You should think about that.” Satcha’s tone was sly. “No one else is going to be willing to risk doing this for you.”
Great, now he was being blackmailed. “You may want to think about this. I know you switch the blood.”
“You asked me to.”
“And you were quite familiar with the process.” He moved closer, backing the Servant against the wall. “I wonder how many of my co-workers would like to hear that juicy detail. How many sick or dying have you passed off on them?”
“None. I swear.” The sweet scent of fear poured from Satcha’s pores.
“You’re lying, but even if you weren’t it doesn’t matter. Truth isn’t important in a situation like this, only suspicion.”
“I’ve never given anyone but you a sick Guard or Servant. Never. I wouldn’t.”
“Enough.” He wasn’t in the mood for Satcha’s fear filled rambling. Plus, he couldn’t afford to frighten this guy too much. He refused to go back to killing healthy Servants and Guards. “Tell you what? Next time, I’ll increase your fee by twenty percent.”
“Thirty.”
“Deal.”
The Servant’s smug expression told him that he could’ve gotten it for less but he didn’t care. Money wasn’t the issue. His conscience was.
“Right through here.” Satcha opened the door and followed McBrid inside.
He turned. “You wait”—he pointed to the door—“out there.”
Satcha frowned but obeyed. The Servant would be listening at the door. McBrid walked to the cage until his face was almost pressed against the bars.
The Servant inside was skinny which wasn’t unusual for strays but this guy was all bones. Leukemia could do that to a creature. The young, male Servant stood, watching him warily. The guy had no idea the danger McBrid offered like a gift.
“Come here.” He motioned the Servant forward. “What I say can’t be heard by anyone but us.” He tipped his head toward the door.
“Don’t worry about Satcha. That piece of Gruntshit, is too scared to say or do anything.” The Servant said it loudly and smirked as he walked to the front of the cage.
“What’s your name?” McBrid wanted to grin too but as an Almighty he shouldn’t have heard the snort of derision from the other side of the door.
“My friends call me Cal.”
“I’m not your friend.” He’d been Fersia’s friend and would hate himself forever for what he’d done to her.
“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.” The Servant looked down at his feet.
“I’m sorry. Forget I said that.” He shouldn’t have but the whiskey had brought his regret to the surface. “I have some questions to ask you.” His voice was low, almost inaudible, but the Servant would hear him.
“Okay.”
“I analyzed the blood that Satcha drew and—”
“I’m not sick. I don’t care what you say.”
“Lower your voice.”
“Sorry,” Cal whispered. “But I’m not sick. If they’d give me more food, I’d be fine.”
“You are sick. Very sick.” He hated feeding on the needs of the dying, but he had no better option. “You won’t live long.”
“I’m not going to live long in here anyway.”
He was right. The shelters executed all unwanted Servants and Guards and no one would adopt this kid. He was too thin and sickly looking. If it weren’t for McBrid’s needs, Cal would’ve been killed the day he’d arrived.
“I might be able to help you with that.”
“Really? You’ll buy me?” Cal’s blue eyes, dull with defeat and illness, suddenly sparked to life.
“Maybe.” McBrid wanted to flee. What he was promising was a fate worse than death, but he had no choice. He had to keep making the monsters or he’d die and his father and uncle might too. This was the best solution to a terrible situation.
Since Fersia, he’d been purchasing the very old but a month ago Conguise had seen the host before the transformation had begun. He’d lied and said that the new serum was causing accelerated aging. He didn’t think the professor had believed him, so his only choice was to pick a younger Servant.
“I swear with good food and some sleep—”
“You’re not going to get better. You have leukemia.”
“So. I’m young and strong. I’ll fight it.” Cal wasn’t educated but that was also common with strays.
“You may fight it but you won’t win. However, I might be able to help you with that.” It wasn’t a lie. If Cal came with him, the Servant wouldn’t die from leukemia.
“You can make me better?” The kid dropped all pretense of not being sick.
“There are risks.”
“I don’t care.” Cal’s eyes darted around the cell. “I have no chance here.”
That was true. “What I’m suggesting will be painful.”
“Like this isn’t.” Cal looked down at his body. “I hurt all the time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please, don’t go. Give me a chance.” Cal grasped the bars. “I’ll do whatever you say.”
“I...I meant, I was sorry that you’re sick.”
“Oh.” Cal let go of the bars. “Yeah. Just my luck, I guess.”
He took a deep breath, hating himself for this. “I want you to understand that what I’m proposing will change you.”
“Will I get better?”
“If you don’t die, you won’t be sick anymore. At least, I don’t believe you will be. I’ve never done this with someone who was sick. I usually purchase the elderly.”
“And they felt better?’
“They became stronger, faster...They became something else. Something other than Servant.” He wasn’t going to lie. From his recent experience, there was no need. The Servants were so desperate for a chance that they’d even take a terrible one.
“I’m in.” Cal grinned.
“I’m serious. If you live through the shots—”
“Shots?” Cal’s face paled a bit.
“Yes. I’ll be drawing your blood and injecting you with serum every day. I may even draw blood more than once a day.”
“I hate needles.”
He waited, doubting that a small fear like this would turn the kid away.
“But...you said I’d be stronger and faster. Not sick anymore. Right?”
“Yes, but you also won’t be a House Servant.”
“What will I be?”
“A monster.” There it was, the entire truth.
Cal’s eyes brightened with amusement but faded as he studied McBrid’s face. “What kind of monster?”
“The deadliest there is.”
Cal’s body trembled but he smiled. “Well then, let’s do it.”
CHAPTER 3: McBrid
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The next morning, McBrid checked on Cal, making sure the young Servant was comfortable in his cage. “If you want anything, just let me know.”
The Servant stretched out on a cot in the Aranea staging lab. He wouldn’t be housed in the same room as Fersia until he slipped into the cocoon phase. He didn’t need to see an Aranea until he became one.
“Sir, you sent for me.” Charlie, one of the two young Guards assigned to him, entered the room, keeping his gaze averted from the Servant.
Neither of them liked what they had to do. Fersia had changed how both of them saw the hosts and the creatures they became.
“I’m going to keep Cal company for a while. I need you to open the divider between the empty Brush-Men cage and the full one, but only a little. I want the smaller ones to enter the replanted enclosure first. It’ll give them a chance to find a place to hide from the larger ones.” The Brush-Men, or Phasmatodeas, had no qualms about eating their own.
“Do I need to feed them?” Charlie’s eyes darted to Cal. “Live food?”
They both hated that part, especially now. Tossing helpless Servants into cages to be devoured by monsters used to be just part of the job, but that also changed since Fersia.
“Yes, but there’s meat in the refrigerator.” He’d been forced to do a live feeding of the Slug-Mugs the other day. Parson was out sick and Conguise had accompanied him to the Gastropoda laboratory. It’d been horrible and Charlie was still upset.
“Great.” Charlie hurried to the refrigerator and pulled out several roasts.
“Cut them up and toss them in before opening the divider. Make sure the doors are locked and sealed before you press that button. They may be small but they’re deadly and if the bigger ones manage to squeeze through...” He didn’t need to say more. Charlie understood better than anyone how dangerous working on Level Five was.
“Yes, sir.” Charlie started for the door.
“Get your brother to help you.” He trusted Charlie, but Louis was big and steadfast whereas Charlie was still naive. He had to figure out how to get the kid away from Level Five before Charlie’s kind heart ended his life.
CHAPTER 4: Glick
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Glick hid in the bushes. His home was now filled with lush vegetation and bugs—lovely, juicy bugs. They’d come with the plants just as he’d predicted. His only problem was catching them. He was fast but small. He’d never grown like the others of his kind.
The Brush-Men wandered about in their enclosure, paying no attention to his side of the cage. They couldn’t get to him so they didn’t even look at him anymore, but he saw them. He hated them. They should’ve helped Bumpers, not eaten him.
The door to the lab opened and the Guards named Louis and Charlie came in carrying packages of meat—the blood seeping through the white paper.
“Open the cage,” said Louis.
Open the cage? What were these Guards thinking? The Brush-Men would tear them apart. He wasn’t going to miss this. He climbed to the top of the bush. He’d rather watch Stink and Topper be devoured but he hated all Guards, so these two would have to do.
Charlie moved to a panel on the wall. “Here goes.”
The click of the door unlocking echoed through the room. Glick stared at the other enclosure but the door didn’t move. He glanced at the Guards. They weren’t going into the other cage. They were coming inside with him.
No one had been in his cage since the night Bumpers and Flea had been killed. He tucked himself in the foliage, his arms shaking as the giants stomped past.
The door was still open. He could flee but where would he go? He was alone and the outside was big and dangerous, but if he left, he could find Scottsmoor and kill him.
He stared at the opening, his freedom, his vengeance. He had to try. He owed Bumpers and Flea that much. His body trembled as he made his way toward the ground. His hands, slippery with sweat, slid off branch after branch. A huge thud shook the plant and Glick stilled, staring at the Guards. Louis had dropped his armful of meat in the center of the cage.
“Don’t dump it in one big pile.” Charlie unwrapped a chunk and tossed it toward the side farthest from the opening between the enclosures.
Glick licked his lips. He’d never tasted meat. The Guards dropped it from above into the other cage, never his.
“Why not?” Louis didn’t move to pick up his packages.
“Because they’ll fight over it.”
Glick couldn’t take his eyes from that large pile of deliciousness. The other Brush-Men didn’t seem thrilled when that was dropped from above instead of live Servants or Guards, but they weren’t as hungry as he was.
“So.” The larger Guard still didn’t move. “And why are you taking off the paper?”
“Because it’s paper.” Charlie unwrapped another package. “No one wants to eat paper.”
Louis shot him a disgusted look. “Do you think Scottsmoor had them strip the Servants and Guards before feeding?”
Scottsmoor. That name snapped Glick out of his food induced trance. He didn’t have time to eat. He hurried down to the ground, making his way to the end of the bush—to the end of safety.
“No, of course they didn’t make them strip,” said Charlie.
“Then those things ate the clothes.” Louis kicked the pile of meat, sending a few parcels skittering to the side. “A little paper isn’t going to bother them.”
Glick’s eyes darted to the door. It was a long way away, but the Guards were busy and they still had a lot of meat to distribute. He swallowed. Even one small chunk would be more than he’d eaten in his entire life.
“I suppose not.” Charlie stopped throwing the meat and stared at the Brush-Men who were gathered at the glass watching them.
This was his chance. Both Guards had their backs to the door. Glick darted through the grass to the closest bush and then the next. He made his way across the vast opening, using anything to hide—tree, bush, even dropping to his belly and crawling through the high grass.
“I hate how they stare at us,” said Louis.
“Me too,” said Charlie.
“Finish up and let’s get out of here,” said Louis.
“I can’t just drop it in one place.”
“Then throw it.”
A bunch of tiny thuds shook the ground. Glick spun around. The Guards were heading his way, but he was almost there.
He ran as fast as his legs would move to the next bush. The earth shook as the Guards strode closer. He launched himself into the foliage, his heart beating almost out of his chest. He was only a few yards from the door, but there were no more trees, no more bushes—nothing but open grass. He’d be exposed, vulnerable, but he had to try. His small, brown body trembled as he raced forward.
The Guards’ heavy footsteps drew closer. They were going to catch him and stomp him into pieces just like Stink and Topper had done during the hatching. His chest heaved as he ran faster. He had to get to the door. He had to get away. A foot landed in front of him. He stumbled and then darted to the side, cringing as he prepared for the pain of the other foot crushing him into the earth, but the Guard continued toward the door.
It must not have seen him. He’d never escape, not now. Not with the Guards in front of him, but he still had time to get away. His legs pumped faster and he gasped for breath. He had to get back to the bushes, back to safety. His toe connected with a root and he tripped, skidding through the grass, his brown body easy to see in the vast field of green. He scrambled to his feet as the Guards walked out of the cage. He stood, panting as his chance to escape slid closed.
“Make sure it’s locked.” Louis turned around, facing the cage.
Glick dropped to the ground, burying himself in the grass.
Charlie tugged on the handle and then ran his hands around the edge of the door. “Yep. Sealed and secure.”
“Good. Ready?”
“Yeah.” Charlie ran his hands along the door again before stepping away from the cage.
Glick’s breath was still coming fast and hard, but the excitement was gone, replaced by the familiar sense of failure. He’d done it again—tried and failed, just like with his clutch-mates and his friends.
The humming of a motor made him roll over and stare at the ceiling of the other enclosure. It must be feeding time. His stomach rumbled. Time for him to eat too. He pushed to his knees, staying hidden in the grass as he crawled toward a delicious pile of meat. He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into all that cold, bloody flesh. He stilled. Why had the Guards left so much in his cage? Why had they left any? He glanced at the ceiling of the other enclosure again. The window hadn’t opened, but the sound of the motor covered the Brush-Men’s chirps of food, food. He turned, staring at the doors but both were closed. The other Brush-Men weren’t even looking that way. They were focused on the glass that separated the enclosures because...the glass was rising.
CHAPTER 5: Glick
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Glick jumped to his feet, no longer worried about the Guards seeing him as a swarm of Brush-Men spilled into his home. They’d killed Bumpers. They would kill him too. He had to move but his legs only shook. The others surrounded the meat, devouring it in great big gulps. More pushed into the enclosure, finding and tearing into the packages of flesh scattered about the cage. The bigger ones shouldered the littler ones to the back.
One of the smallest ones, who was at least three times bigger than Glick, turned away, tired of trying to squeeze through to the food, and his gaze landed on Glick. “Prey,” he clacked. “Hunt.”
Some of the others stopped eating, their thin, stick-like faces covered with bits of flesh and blood.
Glick’s breath left him in a whoosh as his feet finally moved. He raced for his bush, hiding was his only chance. Some of the Brush-Men broke away from the groups surrounding the meat and ran toward him. He shoved through the thick grass, everything moving in slow motion and yet so fast. His heart pounded in his ears as his breath burst from his mouth in pants. He flew over the ground—his bush, his safety looming so far away. The others were gaining on him, their legs longer, their bodies stronger. He darted to the side, hopping over a stick that’d fallen from one of the trees.
The Brush-Man closest to him didn’t jump soon enough, stumbling and falling. The others didn’t even pause, trampling their companion into the earth. Glick ran faster, his feet barely touching the ground before sprinting off again. There was nowhere to hide and no other obstacles to use to slow down the horde. There was nothing but a long stretch of grass between him and his home.
A small group veered away from the others, racing in the same direction he was going but at an angle. They were going to cut him off. He’d never make it. Dying like Bumpers was an honor, but he wasn’t ready to die. Something hit him on the side, knocking him to the ground as teeth and claws tore at his body.
He screamed, his mouth filling with dirt and grass as pain roared through him in a hundred different spots. He bucked but they were all over him, their weight holding him down. He grabbed an arm near his face, his bony fingers tearing into barky flesh. An open mouth loomed toward him. He rammed it with his skull and chomped down on whatever got in his path. The other Brush-Man screamed and Glick’s mouth filled with hot, fresh blood and flesh. He didn’t have time to chew so he spit it out and bit at another one. He had to get up. He had to flee, but there were too many. They were crushing him as they tore him apart. He bucked again but it was a futile attempt, his small body barely moving more than a twitch.
Then, the weight was gone. The Brush-Men were running away, scattering in all directions. He had no idea why they’d left and didn’t care. This was his chance. He pushed himself to his knees when something big grabbed his foot, lifting him into the air. The larger Brush-Men. That was why the little ones had fled. He closed his eyes. This was it. He’d die like Bumpers had, in one great big bite. His stomach flopped as he swung back and forth. The Brush-Man wasn’t eating him, but it was moving fast. He opened his eyes, trying to twist to see who clutched his foot, but his body didn’t bend like that anymore, his skin too stiff and brittle.
He was high off the ground, so it had to be an Original who’d captured him. They were tall. Maybe, it was saving him. They knew he understood the Guards and Almightys, like they did. None of the others seemed to understand anything but each other.
The grass behind him shifted like waves. The Brush-Men were coming back.
“Hurry! Hurry! They’re right behind us!” They wouldn’t attack an Original, would they?
The Original moved faster almost flying across the cage, but it didn’t duck into a bush. Instead the grass and green of his enclosure disappeared, replaced by a white tile floor. The door closed and loud pings and bangs echoed through the room as the Brush-Men pummeled against the enclosure, trying to break out of the cage to attack.
The tightness on his foot disappeared and he fell, hitting something hard. This wasn’t an Original. It couldn’t be. Only two creatures entered and left the cages. He scrambled to his feet, crying out in pain. Part of his hand was gone, torn away by his kind.
“Shhh.” Charlie’s eyes darted to the door. “You have to be quiet. If my brother comes back and sees you, I’ll be in big trouble.”
He stared up into the face of the Guard, his enemy, his savior. He backed away, his leg throbbing from being carried by the foot and his body aching everywhere from all the wounds, but it was nothing compared to what this Guard would do to him. His back hit something and his eyes darted around. He was in a beaker just like the Almighty had used for Flea.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Charlie’s voice was soft. “Are you hungry?”
Glick wanted to be brave, but his body shook. This was worse than being eaten by Brush-Men. Guards had captured Flea for the Almighty. They hadn’t hurt her at first but later they’d cut her into pieces.
“Stay. I’ll get you some food.” Charlie walked away.
